Becoming an Outsider
by The Diamond in the Rocks
Summary: A continuation of The Outsiders, beginning the morning after Ponyboy writes the theme. "I don't much care for girls. Soda says I'll grow out of it." And so he does. Ponyboy/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Alright, so this is a direct continuation of the Outsiders, where our little Ponyboy is finally getting a girl. This chapter holds no hint of his girl _yet,_ just some foreshadowing at the very end.**

**And also mucho kudos to my beta/ninja, Kait, AKA: taekwondogrl006. Without her this story would be... Not very fun to read, honestly. :P**

**Oh, and PS, go check out her stories. They're way cooler than mine. :D**

**Disclaimer: SE Hinton owns these characters... I like to make them bend to my will. MWAHA -cough- HAHA.**

**

* * *

**

I rubbed my eyes, glancing at the clock. Five a.m. I had stayed up all night writing the theme, finishing off half a pack of Kools and resisting every urge to get into the warm, inviting bed that was only a few feet behind me. I stretched, rolling my shoulders back a few times, and turned my attention back to the notebook on my desk.

I stared at the last page, trying to think of a way to finish it off, to make it complete. I yawned so hugely my head felt as if it'd crack open. I glanced behind me to see if it had woken Soda. He stirred, his wheat-colored hair falling over his forehead as he turned in his sleep. I held my breath for one everlasting second. He muttered faintly, and then his light snore picked back up. I let out a relieved sigh before looking back down at the half-filled page laying on the desk.

It had taken me two full notebooks, front to back, to sum up the last week. One week of my life had changed everything, had turned my whole life backwards and upside-down. I stared at the last words I had written down, taking a minute to massage my stiff fingers.

_"Thanks," I said and hung up._

I had left off right at last night, after I had hung up the phone with Mr. Symes. I picked up the pen slowly and wrote down:

_I sat down and picked up my pen and thought for a minute._ I smiled at the slight coincidence.

_Remembering. Remembering a handsome, dark boy with a reckless grin and a hot temper. A tough, tow-headed boy with a cigarette in his mouth and a bitter grin on his hard face. Remembering- and this time it didn't hurt- a quiet, defeated-looking sixteen-year-old whose hair needed cutting badly and who had black eyes with a frightened expression to them._

I thought about last night. I thought about Johnny, realizing that it _didn't_ hurt to think about him anymore. I stared at my paper and finally finished it:

_One week had taken all three of them. And I decided I could tell people, beginning with my English teacher. I wondered for a long time how to start that theme, how to start writing about something that was important to me. And I finally began like this: When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home..._

I decided to end my paper there, before I went on repeating the whole story. Reliving it had helped me, I realized. I was thinking all of this in the back of my mind. What I was really thinking about was how tired I was.

I_ still have two hours before I have to get up and go to school_, I thought. _I can get two hours of sleep_. I crawled into bed next to Soda, wriggling under his arm. He shifted unconsciously to make room for me, lifting his arm. I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

***

When I cracked my eyes open Darry was shaking me awake gently. In the back of my mind, this surprised me. _Darry is never gentle_, I thought. I tried to open my eyes all the way, but it was a wasted effort. My eyelids felt like sandpaper. I doubt I could have formed a coherent sentence.

"Wake up, Pony, get up." His voice was hushed, soothing. He shook me a little more roughly now, which was comforting in a sense of familiarity, but annoying because regardless, I _was_ still half asleep.

"Where's Soda?" I managed, my voice a dull croak. I rubbed my eyes in an attempt to wake myself up. It seemed to have the opposite affect.

"He's already up and getting dressed, bud. C'mon, before you're late to school," he said, irritation leaking into his tone. He was trying to tug me upright, now. It was a vain attempt.

_School,_ I realized then, his words finally sinking in. I didn't want to go to school. I wondered if Darry would let me skip it today, but it felt like there was something important I had to do. It was bugging me. I tried to remember what it was, but my brain was fried. I couldn't think straight.

"School..." I mumbled. I finally decided to help Darry out in his attempts, pushing myself up on my elbows. My head spun when I achieved a sitting position.

"Ugh," I groaned. Darry looked at me strangley.

"Are you okay, Pony? How late did you stay up?" His voice was full of concern, which also struck me as strange. I glanced at the clock sitting on my bed table; the shiny metal hands indicated that it was seven o'clock.

"I went to sleep two hours ago," I admitted with a yawn. Darry's mouth fell open, his eyes bugged out of his head. I would have laughed, had I not been so exhausted. He was utterly shocked.

"_Why?_" He asked. His voice was awed, but I heard the anger in it. This worried me in a tiny corner of my head. Hadn't we promised Soda no more fights? I could have sworn we did.

"I was writing the theme," I recalled in a voice that was heavy with sleep but innocent. Darry was still looking at me strangely.

"And it took you all night?"

"It's kind of long," I explained, a little too sharply. I was getting irritated with all the questions, and the bright light coming from an uncovered window wasn't helping to ease my temper. I _really_ wanted to go back to sleep.

Darry shook his head and muttered something I didn't catch. "Well, hurry up and get dressed, I guess." He walked out of the room still muttering under his breath.

I frowned and tried to remember what was so important that I had to do at school today. After a second of thinking, I realized I had to turn in the theme today so that I could get a _C_ in English. It bothered me that the highest I could get at this point was a _C_. Why, I thought. Why did it bother me now? It hadn't bothered me yesterday that I was doing lousy in all my classes. Why now?

I realized that if I stayed here standing around thinking about it, I'd never get to school on time. I trudged over to my closet and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt. I then went to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. Man, that woke me up. The water was freezing, and my skin tingled even after I had dried my face. I pulled on my tennis shoes as fast as I could and ran to the kitchen to eat something and help Sodapop with the dishes.

Soda was sitting at the table, fully dressed and shoveling eggs, grape jelly and chocolate cake into his mouth. Steve was lounging out on the sofa, a piece of cake in one hand and the newspaper in the other. Two-Bit was sitting on the floor, his back against a chair watching TV. I reached for a piece of cake without sitting down, stuffing it into my mouth and grabbing another one before I had swallowed. Gosh, I hadn't known how hungry I was. I hadn't really gotten enough to eat last night.

I haven't gotten enough to eat in a while, I thought. I looked at the cake in my hand and realized that it tasted like cake. Not baloney. That was odd... and nice. It felt good to eat without gagging.

"Hey, Ponyboy," Two-Bit said, his gaze shifting from the TV to my face.

"Morning, Two-Bit," I replied, turning to the cabinet to get a glass. I yanked open the cooler, retrieved the gallon of chocolate milk, and filled the glass to the brim. I gulped the entire thing down without taking a breath. I slapped the cup down on the table, panting slightly and wiping my upper lip with the back of my arm. Soda finally had enough food swallowed so that he could form a sentence.

"How's it goin', Pony?" He began immediately. "Gosh, but you stayed up all night writing that theme, didn't you? You have some dark bags under your eyes, kid."

"I had to do a good job," I muttered, absentmindedly touched the soft skin under my eyes. It_ did_ feel a little swollen. I yawned and brought my arms up behind me to stretch.

"I'll read it over for you, if you want," Darry offered, coming into the kitchen and leaning against the counter, a mug of coffee in one hand. I barked a laugh.

"Sure," I chuckled, "If you want to go to work a couple hours late."

Soda looked at me strangely, standing up with his now empty plate. "Why, how long is the paper?"

I considered. "Well, it took up almost two notebooks, so pretty long, I'd guess." Everyone was looking at me now. The light banter that had been coming from Two-Bit and Steve stopped abruptly.

"_Two notebooks?_" Two-Bit asked in awe. His following low cuss was barely audible, but I could hear a faint note of jealousy. With it came a strange sense of pride on my part.

Steve's eyebrows were raised in disbelief, though he didn't say anything. Soda let out a low whistle. Darry had the best composure; though there was surprise in his icy eyes, the rest of his face was smooth, expressionless.

"Well," he finally broke the silence. "I would think it would be that long, being as you didn't get a wink of sleep 'till about 5 AM."

His voice was casual, with a hint of forced sternness, but I could hear the underlying pride. _Darry's proud of me,_ I thought wildly._ Darry's satisfied_.

Of course he wouldn't say so; he was Darry, after all. But just knowing it made my chest swell.

The rest of them slowly slid out of their stupor, though Steve kept a wary eye on me. Their frozen positions gradually relaxed; Two-Bit turning back to the TV, Soda beginning to collect the rest of the plates off the table, Steve getting up to comb his hair into his usual array of complicated twists.

I quickly shoved a spoonful of eggs into my mouth to keep from grinning; I didn't want to seem too smug. I took my glass and plate to the sink , and Soda and I started the dishes; him washing, me drying and putting away. The room lapsed into a comfortable silence besides the clink of dishes and the low buzz of the TV. I smiled in spite of myself, it was a rare and beautiful thing when our house was this quiet. I could tell the others didn't like it so much, but it was calming to me. Nice.

I finally put the last dish away in a cabinet. Sodapop shrugged into his jacket, and I went to grab my book bag from the bedroom before I ran outside and joined Two-Bit and Steve in Two-Bit's car. I waved goodbye to Darry and Soda as both cars pulled away in opposite directions.

_Today's finally going to be normal_, I thought, gazing out the window into the bright light of the beginning of a new day in Tulsa. _Normal. Ordinary. Uneventful. _Those words were sounding very good right now.

But little did I know that 'uneventful,' wouldn't exist on this day. Not in the slightest.

* * *

**Oo, there's the foreshadowing I was talking about earlier. Review?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Why, hello there. Decided to read on, then? I hope so.**

**And a quick FYI, I know I named her after myself. I know that's pathetic. That's what happens when you can't think of a name and you're desperately in love with a fictional character. Bite me.**

**Thanks again to my awesome-rific beta, taekwondogrl006! Again, I encourage you to go read her stuff. It remains cooler than mine. :D**

**Disclaimer: I own Sarah, and nothing else. I swear.**

**

* * *

**

Despite Two-Bit's crazy driving, the bell was already ringing when we pulled up into the school parking lot. I sat on the edge of my seat, the the two illegal u-turns and what would have been an autowreck had made me alert and focused, forcing me to recover from my sleepy state. I burst out of the car before it was fully stopped, leaving the door open behind me and sprinting headlong to the door. I really couldn't be late again.

I hit the door hard with my shoulder, probably giving myself a bruise as I struggled with the handle. I finally shoved the door out of the way and continued running down the white and blue halls. A few students lingered by rows of bright blue lockers, talking. They gave me strange looks as I blew past.

I skidded to a stop in front of my locker and began fumbling with the lock. I had to repeat the combination a few times and give the locker a hard shove before it finally cooperated. I threw in my bag and retrieved my history textbook, notebook, and a pencil, my mind screaming at me to hurry up. I slammed the locker shut and turned to run back down the hall to my social studies class.

Mrs. Baker raised her eyebrows when I walked in, but otherwise didn't acknowledge my tardiness. She was still scared of me. Most of the were. Just like most of my so-called 'friends' wouldn't talk to me, and the Socs were always trying to provoke me into a fight. I was glad that I didn't have lunch in the cafeteria, and didn't have to face the mortification of sitting by myself everyday.

I flopped down into my seat in the back of the room, panting. Though the table was meant for two, I sat alone. After that week, most people thought I would kill them if they sat next to me. Not that anyone would want to sit next to a greaser in the first place, but I think the incident was a contributing factor. Oh well. At least I didn't have to worry about elbow room. I threw my books onto the faux wood table and flipped my textbook to the right page.

As I listened to the lesson, I wondered why I had been failing this class for so long. This was all so basic. I answered all the questions we were assigned and was even the first one to turn them in. Sitting in my seat with nothing to do, I realized that the problem had been that I hadn't even been _trying._ Coming to this realization lifted a weight off my shoulders, knowing that I _would_ try now. The thought made me smile.

Finally the bell rang again, signaling the end of first period. I loaded my books into my arms and headed for the door, shuffling slowly behind the crowd of students hurrying to get out of the classroom. I shoved my way through the crowded hallway, bodies squishing past me to get through. I felt strangely claustrophobic, like it was the first time in a long time I had been in a crowd. Had I really been that detached?

Finally reaching my locker, I quickly traded my history text for my Lit. book. I lifted the two notebooks I had written my theme in out of my bag. They felt heavy in my hand. Would this be enough to get me a C?

I slammed the locker shut and hurried off to class, trotting down the white linoleum. The hallway was still crowded, people shouting to one another and throwing things. I was shoved a few times, whether they were accidental or purposely evaded me. I opened the door to my English class, walking up to Mr. Symes' desk. I put the two notebooks down on his desk. He looked up in surprise.

"What's this?" His eyes were curious.

"The theme I was supposed to write." His eyebrows flew up to the top of his head.

"Two notebooks?" His voice was incredulous. "You're joking!" I could hear whispers starting up behind me.

"It's... Well, I think it's my best work," I said honestly. He was biting his lip.

"Well have a seat, Ponyboy," he said finally. "But it'll be a few days before I can get this back to you." I cracked a grin.

"It's alright." I turned to find a few people staring at me with shocked expressions. They lowered their gazes when I met them sourly.

I made my way to the table in the middle aisle where I-once again- sat alone. I prepared to pay attention to the lesson again, as I did in history. If I kept this up, I could end up passing this semester. I put my head down on the edge of the desk to wait for the rest of the class to fill up, playing with a rock on the floor with my toe. I studied the blue and white dots on the linoleum, making pictures in my mind that weren't there. I could hear low chatter and sounds of chairs scraping against the tile as the room filled with students. I kept my head down. I was the only greaser in advanced Lit., and had learned long ago not to attract attention to myself. I suddenly heard the chair to my left being pulled back, and looked up in surprise. No one ever sat next to me.

A Soc girl that I didn't recognize was putting her books down on the desk while pulling the chair out to sit down. I knew she was a Soc because of what she was wearing; this was no greaser girl, or even middle class. She must have been new, because I was positive I hadn't seen her before. I knew almost everyone who came here. As she sat down, I realized that she was pretty. Very pretty, in fact.

Her skin was lightly tanned, her hair waving gently to just above her waist. Her eyes matched her hair, dark brown and gleaming brightly. I straightened up a bit. She looked up at me, and her eyes grew wide and surprised for a second. I opened my mouth to say something, but was cut off by Mr. Symes beginning the lesson. I tore my eyes away from her and turned my attention to the front.

"Good morning class, I trust that you all finished the reading we started in class on your own last night..." All thoughts of the new girl were wiped from my mind as I realized that I had obviously _not_ finished reading last night. I frantically searched the text book for the right page, and began reading quickly once I got to it.

"Ponyboy Curtis?" My head snapped up automatically at the whispered sound of my name. I turned to face the large eyes of the new girl sitting next to me. I noticed there were gold flecks in her eyes.

"Yeah, it's, erm, a strange name, I know," I replied uneasily. I could feel my ears getting red, which only made me more embarrassed. I was surprised to see her shake her head.

"That's not it," she said in a low voice. "Well, not that it _isn't _an original name, it certainly is, but that wasn't what I was referring to. I read a newspaper article about you."

"Oh," I muttered, understanding now. I lowered my gaze, flashbacks running through my head. I remembered back to that first night in the hospital, the reporters crowding around, the headline, _'JUVENILE DELINQUENTS TURN HEROES.'_

"I'm sorry!" She exclaimed quickly, and I returned my gaze to her face, snapping out of my flashback. She had ducked her head down, but I could see the faint red in her cheeks through the veil of her hair. "You- you must not want to talk about it. I'm sorry I brought it up."

"It's okay," I whispered quickly. "Really, I don't mind." I smiled reassuringly. She returned it hesitantly before we both turned our attention back to the books in front of us.

"I'm Sarah," she said suddenly, making me look up again. "It's... nice to meet you, Ponyboy." I gaped at her smile, scrambling to think of something to say. Gosh, she really was pretty.

"Um, nice to meet you too?" I finally said, showing off my superior intelligence. Not really. It sounded like a question. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a giggle, and I could feel the heat rush to my ears and neck again. My eyes met hers for a split second, and I could see a thousand questions burning behind the humor.

"You can ask about it, if you want," I said in a low voice. Her large eyes widened in surprise.

"How do you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I'm so curious about it?"

"I can see it in your eyes," I answered truthfully without hesitation. She raised her eyebrows and chewed her lip for a minute.

"You and your friends were very brave."

"It was the right thing to do."

"I'm sorry about Johnny." I didn't even flinch at the sound of his name.

"It's alright."

"How did Dallas take it?" I backtracked at this question. What was I supposed to say? She monitored my expression, and then lowered her eyes, her face flushed again.

"I'm sorry for asking."

I sighed. "It's fine. I might as well tell you. Dallas is dead." She gasped.

"He committed suicide?" I thought about this one. _Had_ Dally committed suicide? Well, he had wanted to die.

"More or less," I finally answered. Her eyes widened in terror, and she looked down quickly. I looked at her curiously.

"What?"

"Nothing." I thought I had a feeling about what she was thinking.

"We didn't kill him," I hedged. "We would never. He was our buddy."

She stiffened automatically.

"That wasn't what I was thinking," she snapped, but I could hear the relief in her voice. I grinned.

"We're not murderers."

"I know that." She was staring out the open window now, not meeting my gaze. I squinted into the sunlight, following the beam of dancing dust motes with my eyes. I waited for her to say something.

The bell rang, and she hopped up from her chair. Grabbing her books, she turned back to me, her skirt swishing with every movement.

"I'll see you around, Ponyboy," she said with a smile, before turning and walking out the room. By the time I finally remembered how to say something, she was gone.

For the remainder of the day, I scanned every class I walked into for her. I didn't know why. I just wanted to see her again. But she was never there. I knew it was stupid to think that we could be friends. Just like with Cherry Valance, I knew that being seen with me could ruin her reputation.

But I couldn't help but wonder if Sarah watched sunsets.

I finally caught sight of her at the end of the day, in the parking lot. She was leaning against a gleaming red car, next to a boy who must have been her older brother; he looked exactly like her. He looked just like any other Soc; nice clothes, short hair. The car was real tuff. She caught me staring at her, and a huge grin spread across her face. I could tell Steve and Two-Bit were watching me now, but couldn't do anything but gape. That made her laugh as she climbed into the passenger seat of the Corvair, and I turned, embarrassed, to climb into the back seat of Two-Bit's old car.

It was the third time that day she made me turn red.

* * *

**And there she is. I like her. She's good for our little Pony, no?**

**Oh, and by the way, based on the reviews I got for chapter one, I've set a standard. Seven reviews gets you an update. The standard will increase as more people read and review.**

**So review if you like updates.**


End file.
